


Waking up at the start of the end of the world

by Gally



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Mushroom War, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gally/pseuds/Gally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All journeys have to start somewhere, Simon Petrikov's travels though the wreckage of the world are no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking up at the start of the end of the world

Simon woke up in the rubble of his house. He lay there for a few long minutes and stared at the sky though dust-caked glasses. He robotically took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt and placed them back on his face. His brow furrowed as he stared up. He knew he should be looking up at a ceiling instead of the open air, but that was not his biggest concern. “Something happened,” he said to himself. “Something changed.” He sat up with a gasp. “The crown!” His hands smacked the top of his head and met only his bushy hair. “I was wearing it before, wasn’t I? But before what?” He leapt to his feet. “Before the building collapsed!”

He turned in place, taking in the destruction. Bits of walls and ceiling were scattered, shreds of his furniture intermingled with the remains of the masonry. He frowned as he saw the shattered mess that used to be his mother’s china and noted the crown that lay next to what used to be his sofa. He closed his eyes and combed though his shattered memories, talking it out as he pieced it together. “I was upstairs. Yes! I passed out on the bed - and there were sirens - why is there ice everywhere?” He kicked at large chunk and rolled his eyes. “Okay, Simon, you know why there’s ice. The ice isn’t new anymore. Neither is talking to yourself, for that matter, but why so much ice? Think, there has to be some easy explanation for all this.” He felt oddly calm mulling over his current situation in the rubble. After a few moments, Simon climbed the remains of the staircase, testing each step to make sure it wouldn’t collapse under his weight.

His former home was almost completely demolished, and from his new vantage point he could see the rest of the block had fared no better. “What happened here?” Simon crouched down on the top of the staircase, all that remained of the second floor, closed his eyes and tried to remember. The time since he had put on the crown and driven Betty away was a blur. He had spent more of it asleep than awake, and when he was awake his mind was filled with commands from the crown, the secrets of the ice and snow, how he needed to freeze it all, everything, and quickly! He had been too preoccupied with his changing body and mind to pay much attention to the outside world. Visions of the frozen world the crown demanded intermingled with memories of his video camera, as he attempted to document what was happening to him. He planned to make daily recordings; hah, that hadn’t lasted very long. After a while he realized he was mostly taping over previous entries, sometimes even just recording static or the lens cap. If anyone ever needed 4 hours of mad rantings accompanied by a black screen, he was able to provide, but his video journal wouldn’t be able to fill in the blanks for him now. 

Simon stood up again and tapped the side of his head. “I’m okay now? Yes! I can think again!” He held his hands up and sighed. “Skin still blue. Even bluer than I remember it being.” He walked over to the crown and crouched down. “Did it use up all of its power to protect me when whatever happened, er, happened?” He grabbed the splintered remains of a wooden chair and poked the crown, watched it roll down the rime-covered rubble pile. The crown hit the remains of his drumset and came to a rather noisy halt. Simon blinked as he realized that was the only noise he could hear. “Why is it so quiet? Where is everyone else?” He'd never had much contact with his neighbors; Betty and Simon were gone too often to form bonds with the others on the block, and both of the academics shied away from any contact with others that was not required. Simon was pretty sure people had lived in the other now demolished buildings, though. His boots scuffed on the rubble and he yelped as he almost tumbled on his way to the sidewalk, muttering once he had regained his footing. “I refuse to slip on this ice and break my neck.” He laughed at the irony of it, then fell silent as his laughter echoed back at him from the empty streets.

The neighborhood was silent; Simon didn’t even hear birds or insects as he strained his ears, brushing away his hair as if that would make a difference. “Hello? You alive?!” He called several times, but there was no reply. Nonetheless he investigated the rubble of the house next to his. It was much like the disaster that he woke up in save for the lack of any ice in the glorified rock pile. He found no one living or otherwise. Not even a cockroach scurried out when he made a halfhearted attempt to dig though the debris. 

Simon inspected a cut on his hand as he sat on the ripped easy chair. “Still bleed red. That’s actually surprising. I half expected ice to drip out, or to be a real blue blood now.” He laughed at his own stupid joke as he wiped the blood away and then fell silent as the cut healed in front of his eyes. “That's useful.”

Simon sat in his unknown neighbor’s plush chair as the sun crept from dawn to mid-afternoon. For hours he hardly moved.

The clouds rolled in and a strange rain fell. It hissed and fizzed as it hit the ground. Simon bolted to his feet and let out a wordless scream that gave way to shrieking: “What am I doing! Oh, God look at me! Betty! Betty, where are you? What happened?!” He crouched down again and muttered, ”Keep it together, Simon, keep it together, come on. Think. Think. Something happened. This is no gas main that exploded; there are no emergency vehicles. Nothing. No people! They - they evacuated! But wait, why didn’t anyone get me out?” His anguished whispers turned to self loathing. “Because you were terrified of the pizza man at the end there, Simon, you would have never answered the door! Shut up! Betty’s safe! I know she is!”

He ran back to his house, shouting as hopped from rubble pile to rubble pile, skidding but not slowing in the rain. ”She was a biochemist with the government, idiot! She’s fine! They’re sheltered! Even if this is world war three, even if we were attacked, she’ll be fine!” He nervously laughed as he tried to comb though his memories again. He vaguely recalled mentions of the ‘Doomsday clock’ being moved yet another minute to midnight, but when had that happened? Was this vivid memory something that recently penetrated though the fog as the crown wormed it's way through his brain? Or was it something from happier times, before Betty left? They never stopped fiddling with that stupid clock. He stood in the middle of his former living room and took a moment to get his bearings, his mind still racing and his heart thumping in his chest. 

“The closet was this way.” He started moving the remains of bookcases and wooden beams out of his way, ”How long has it been since she left? My princess, it's just been a few days since you were here, right?” He laughed bitterly. “No. I’m not crazy enough to think that. But let's pretend. Who doesn’t like pretending, after all?”

It was near sunset before Simon managed to clear a path his storage closet. He oofed as he shoved the last beam aside and dropped it, wincing as it crashed down and shattered a lamp, “Well, you never liked that anyway, did you, Betty.” He said a small prayer to anything that might be listening as he wrenched open the closet door and grinned broadly as he saw the closet’s contents were practically unharmed. He tugged out the backpack he used for his field expeditions and was grateful at how terrible he was about unpacking; it was almost ready to go, bedroll and dishes included. 

“I’m going to find you, Betty. You’re going to be so happy I’m alive you’ll forget and forgive whatever it is I did and love me again! I know it! Er, after I let you know this is me. But then its just a minor matter of a quick nose job, some colored contacts, hair dye, industrial strength tanning bed, making some lucky dentist very very rich...and then we’ll have our happy ending, my princess!!” He laughed loudly and too long at how brilliant and perfect this plan was.

He crammed his backpack full of anything he might need. He took every journal he could find that still had blank pages, “Who cares about ancient civilizations if we’re about to be an ancient civilization?” he quipped as he flung another filled journal into the discard pile. He hefted the pack on his shoulders and gave a nod of approval, “No point in waiting till morning. There’s no shelter here. The military base Betty worked with is just 5 miles almost due west. A hike, but I can do it, just watch me, Betty!” He took one last look around the rubble that used to be his house, pausing in front of his drumset where the crown rested. He looked down for a long moment, then scooped up his drumsticks, sliding them into an outside pocket of his pack.

He practically skipped down the cracked cement of the walkway leading from his front door and hopped over a stray pile of roofing tiles. Once he was on the street he paused. “I’m missing something.” He chewed on his lower lip in thought and then winced. “Something besides blunt teeth.” After a moment he smacked his forehead, ”Cars! Where are all the cars?” He quickly answered himself. “Betty must have taken ours and the others evacuated. That settles it. Everyone is fine. Not like I know how to hotwire a car anyway.” He nodded again. “Right. Time for the adventure of Simon Petrikov to begin!” He laughed and shielded his eyes as he headed towards the setting sun, a spring in his step that hadn’t been there since he first placed the crown upon his head. He no longer cared who saw him; he would just stare right back and if they took him to the hospital for what the crown had done to him, well, all the better!

 

A few minutes later, Simon climbed up the front steps and stepped into the ruins of his living room once more, looking down at the crown. He nudged it with his boot as if he expected it to sprout legs and skitter away. Simon sighed heavily and picked up the artifact. “I’m not putting it on again.” He headed back to the road, “But it’s too dangerous to leave here. Even if it did spend all its magic protecting me from the explosion.”

He stood in the middle of the street and just managed to stop himself from chewing on his lower lip again as he talked to himself. “It won't fit in the pack, not if I plan to take other things with me. Like food. That’s out. It's not far to where Betty’s has to be; I can just carry it! Not putting it on!” He grinned again, enjoying how easy it was to think, how clear everything came – thoughts, memories, plans - the worst must be over. This is what the crown meant it would save him from. But he wouldn’t have even been here for this destruction still if it wasn't for the crown. He laughed and finished his thought aloud “Whoever said talking crowns had to be logical?” He was still smiling as he started down the road again, marching away from the last traces of the setting sun that peeked over the western hills.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fiction I have written in a very long time, I hope you enjoyed it. The story of poor Simon Petrikov has been bouncing around in my head since the big "I Remember You" reveal, and I just had to let some of it out there to share. 
> 
> Thanks bunches to my two prereaders, you both improved the story immensely.


End file.
